


A Daughter of Belial

by Gryph



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Gen, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28235154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryph/pseuds/Gryph
Summary: Season 3 spoilers! Serena hears about the events of the S3 finale and remembers a conversation with June that started a cascade of events.
Relationships: June Osborne | Offred/Serena Joy Waterford
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	A Daughter of Belial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ziskandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/gifts).



News of the arrival of Gilead children in Canada reached Serena Waterford in prison less than twenty-four hours after the wheels touched down on the tarmac. A hundred and four children snatched from right under the noses of the Guardians and whisked beyond their reach. One-hundred and four.

She remembered how difficult it has seemed to sneak just one child out of Gilead, when she’d let go of her daughter Nicole… The thought caught in her brain, like a jagged splinter. June had tricked her into sending Nicole north, with promises of a better life for her daughter without the restrictive dogma that had stripped her of her career, her autonomy, her dignity. When she clenched her hand into a fist, she still felt a phantom digit digging into her palm where her pinky had been cut off as punishment for her lack of dedication.

_The crazy bitch took a hundred and four sons and daughters from their families._ When Tuello first brought the news to her cell, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to rage, cry, or cheer. It would be the end of Gilead. That sliver of a hope, that everything Fred Waterford—her slimy, traitorous, self-righteous asshole of a husband—had spent years organizing, nurturing, and benefitting from, everything that sprang from all her ideas that he had taken credit for, that it would all crumble because of June Osborne, made a quicksilver flash of glee lighten her heart. Oh, the blow to Fred’s ego that his _masterpiece_ of civil morality was brought low by a _woman_. By a _Handmaid_.

But then, _she’d_ known that June was a force to be reckoned with, ever since that night when they’d shared a bottle of wine.

******

“You know,” June said as she looked over the rim of her wineglass, noting how it caught the flicker of the fire in the otherwise dark room, and pointed her cigarette at Serena in emphasis, “you have all the power. You can have him eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Serena gave her a sour look and held up her left hand, displaying the half-glove that covered her mutilation, another cigarette clamped between her index and forefinger. She took a drag—another bright ember flaring in the darkness—then blew a billow of smoke into the air. “I can’t say that I’m feeling particularly powerful right now.” She raised the wine glass in her other hand and took a long draught on the crimson liquid. In the low light, the red of the wine was a perfect match for the red of June’s handmaid dress.

June rolled her eyes. “Then you’re an idiot.” Leaning forward, she grabbed the half-full bottle off the table and tilted it over Serena’s glass. “He wants you back. And not just for the show of it to the other Commanders. He wants your love.” She deposited the bottle back on the table and sat back, slouching down into the chair. When it was just the two of them talking like this, sharing a heretical indiscretion in the night away while the rest of the household slept, there was no need to keep up any pretense. She drank more of her own wine. “So what do _you_ want?”

The wine was starting to work its way into Serena’s brain. She felt her inhibitions melting away, knew that it was unwise to relax _too_ much around June. Studying her former handmaid, Serena could see the steely glint of resistance in June’s eyes, the one that said she would do whatever was necessary to survive. Would she ever have that resilience within herself again?

“You know what I want. We’ve had this conversation before.” She leaned back, mirroring the other woman’s indolent pose. “I want a seat at the table. I want credit for my ideas. I want—,” her voice broke. She swigged another mouthful of wine and swallowed noisily before continuing. “I want a place where I can be with my daughter.”

“You could be with her now.”

Serena crushed her spent cigarette in the ashtray next to the wine bottle. “In Canada?” Her voice dripped with contempt.

“Yes! In Canada!” June snuffed out her own cigarette and slammed the mostly empty glass on the table. She slid forward on the chair until their knees nearly touched in the narrow space between them. Serena began shaking her head but as she opened her mouth to speak, June grabbed her knees. At the touch, the words died unuttered.

“We can both go. With Hannah. We can take a car and ‘accidently’ end up over the border. You help me bring Hannah, and I’ll testify to the Canadian authorities on your behalf. Get you asylum.” June surged forward until she was kneeling at Serena’s feet. She reached up and placed gentle hands on both sides of the other woman’s face. “You don’t have to stay here with _him_.”

They both knew who she meant. But Fred was her husband, and maybe she still loved him.

Didn’t she?

With a half sob, Serena put down her own glass; the wine sloshed over the side. She put her right hand—the whole one—over June’s. Did she still love Fred? Could she? After the affair, after the belting, after the… punishment for her daring to suggest that women be allowed to read the Bible, could she still love her… abuser? She struggled with the word, even unspoken.

She was disgusted to realize that part of her did still love Fred, or at least wanted to. But as she stared into June’s eyes, felt the warmth of her hand on her cheek, she knew that every day without her daughter, that part of her died a little more.

They sat like that for a long while, with June’s head resting on Serena’s knees, their hands entwined.

The seeds had been planted. The next day, she called Mark Tuello.

******

The plan that June had sketched out on that drunken night had evolved into a web that snared Fred, but left June and Hannah behind. She didn’t regret that she now occupied an identical cell to the one where her husband was being held by the Canadian authorities for numerous human rights violations. But she did regret that she hadn’t been able to bring June with her.

And now, even though her erstwhile handmaid—no, her _friend_ had rescued over a hundred children and one Martha— _her_ Martha, Rita, she had again remained behind in Gilead. That had been her first question when Tuello had told her of the plane filled with refugees. She could only assume that June had been unable to liberate Hannah; the handmaid had made it clear that she would not leave without her firstborn child.

Alone again, Serena stood by the small window and looked out over the pristine snow-covered lawn. And slowly, a smile crept across her lips.


End file.
